


The Fabulous Ladies Night Club

by CantSpeakFae



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Strippers & Strip Clubs, Xander's Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-16 04:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18087878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantSpeakFae/pseuds/CantSpeakFae
Summary: "No one really bothered me or even spoke to me until one night when one of the male strippers called in sick and no power on this earth will make me tell you the rest of that story."- Xander HarrisAKAHow Xander's brief stint as a male stripper really went down.





	1. Fresh From Hell

It’s only when Xander is leaning over the smoking engine of his Uncle Rory’s car that he suddenly realizes that he has no idea what he’s doing.   
  
Three hours.   
  
That’s how long he’d been on the road. Just three lousy hours before the car had started making a rattling sound. A sound that he’d been planning to ignore until he came across a gas station, but when billows of dark, acrid smoke had started to puff up from under the hood… well, he’d survived one too many apocalypses to go down via engine explosion, so he pulled right over and hopped out to play mechanic.  
  
Which is great in theory, except that he doesn’t know anything about cars. Tony certainly never taught him anything and they didn’t have an auto body shop elective at Sunnydale High, though that would have been awesome. He’d only learned how to change a tire for this upcoming trip, hadn’t even thought about doing more than topping off the coolant when it came to issues under the hood. Typical. Sabotaged by his own inability to THINK, once again. And since he has no idea what he’s doing, he’s just leaning over an overheated engine with smoke still wafting up to his face and making his eyes smart as he wonders what he should do next.   
  
Flag someone down? That seems like the only option, really, but he’s not sure he’s far enough away from Sunnydale for that to be safe. And he has to laugh, then, because it’s just so insanely ridiculous that he’s no longer afraid of potentially ending up with a serial killer or insane kidnapper pulling over to help him out. That the idea of flagging down a driver that turns out to be a vampire or some kind of highway demon seems more likely and more terrifying. Of course, the sun hasn’t quite set in the distance, yet, so he’s probably safe from any road tripping fang-faces.   
  
For now.  
  
Xander slumps down further, leaning against the car, then hissing when his skin makes contact with the still-hot engine and flinching back. Right. He can’t just stand out here, waiting for something to happen. If the last sign he passed was to be believed, he’s somewhere near Oxnard, now. It’s a beach town, much like Sunnydale, only hopefully without the presence of a Hellmouth. If he starts walking now, he’s bound to find a gas station or some kind of building before it gets too dark.  
  
“Son of a bitch,” Xander mumbles under his breath, pulling back and slamming the hood back down before he kicks the front tired. Hard. It’s not very helpful, just sends a shooting pain up his leg and sends him hopping back on one foot, swearing colourfully with words borrowed from his dad’s dictionary. “Ow, ow, ow!”   
  
Well, the only good thing about this is that there’s no one to see him make a fool of himself. He can almost hear what Cordelia would say about this - what any of them would say, actually. He’s imagining a lot of laughter. Look at poor, pitiful Xander. Can’t get into college, can’t take a freaking road trip… everything he does is a disaster.   
  
He yanks open the door to the backseat and shoulders his backpack before moving back to the front seat and rifling through the glove box. Map, stakes, holy water, cross necklace that Buffy had gifted him with as a graduation present… he slips that one and shoves everything else into his pockets with his wallet.   
  
He’s not worried about leaving the car, there. It’s not registered in his name, anyway, and it’s not like anyone would steal it. Worst case, it blows up and if he starts walking now, he won’t even be there for it.   
  
“Thanks for nothing, rust bucket.” Xander says, giving the hood one last, friendly pat before he turns his gaze toward the setting sun on the horizon.   
  


* * *

  
By the time that Xander finds sees the glow of a neon sign in the distance, he feels a lot like he’s in one of those cartoons that he used to enjoy. Okay, who is he kidding. One of those cartoons that he still enjoys, with cliche gags. He feels like the dyin’ man crawling around on his belly through the desert only to come face-to-face with an oasis. And he can only hope that real life isn’t as painful as a cartoon and that when he dives headfirst into the pool of water he thinks he sees, he won’t come back up with a mouthful of sand.   
  
He picks up his pace.   
  
The summer evening stretched out the daylight for all it was worth, but he’s not moving fast enough and darkness found him sooner than he would have liked. ‘Course, if he had it this way, the night would have never come. Not as long as he was outside. But nothing’s growled at him and nothing he can see is followin’ him, so he’ll call it a win. Maybe vampires only exist in Sunnydale.  
  
He doesn’t pause to read the name on the sign of the building, but it looks like a bar or some kinda club - hopefully a place with a phone. He can call a tow truck and then go from there. Maybe figure out where the nearest motel is. He should have enough cash on him to swing a room… of course, the car being broken puts a wrench in all his plans. He can have a trip or he can pay for it to be fixed and do his drive-of-shame back to Sunnydale and tell everyone that he hadn’t lasted three hours in the real world, even after all that talk about him being a bohemian-type. And boy if that thought isn’t unappealing.   
  
Tryin’ to shake off thoughts of having to completely abandon his plans before they’ve ever really started, he steps up toward the door… and is startled when there’s a man standin’ there, arms crossed, blocking it. Oh, great. Xander stops just short of him, eyebrows raised. That’s a real life bouncer - not like the ones they have at the Bronze. But someone actually scary lookin’.   
  
“Uh, hey,” Xander says, shoving his hands into his pocket because he doesn’t know what else to do.   
  
The bouncer grunts at him, but doesn’t say anything in return. And Xander feels awkward as hell. He’s never been to a real, adult club before, and hopes that his knowledge of the Bronze works will be even a watered down indicator.   
  
“Listen, uh, my car broke down about six miles that way,” Xander gesturing in the direction of the way he’d just come. “And I really need to use a phone so I can call a tow truck. Is there one here that I can borrow?”   
  
The bouncer looks him up and down and then snorts. “Don’t need an excuse, man. I’m not judging.”   
  
Uh, what? Xander glances down at himself, too, tryin’ to figure out what about him brought THAT outta the guy. He doesn’t look like someone makin’ excuses. He’s all dusty from walking and probably lookin’ like a geeky tourist in his Hawaiian shirt and with his bulky backpack on.   
  
“Uh, seriously. Is there a phone? I’m kinda in a lot of trouble, here. Three hours away from home and really, really tired.”   
  
“Twenty bucks.”   
  
“Huh?” Xander asks, wondering if they just speak a whole different language in Oxnard.   
  
“That’s the fee to get inside. Twenty bucks. More if you want the good seats.”   
  
“Twenty bucks?!” Xander exclaims, so shocked that he forgets to wonder what the heck he means by “the good seats”. It’s only five to get into the Bronze during the week and ten on Saturdays.   
  
“You want in? Cough it up.”   
  
“I just need to use the phone, though. It won’t take more than fifteen minutes!”   
  
The guys laughs, again, shaking his head. “Already told you, man, I don’t need to hear an excuse. See guys like you all the time. You want to see the dancers? It’s twenty bucks, no matter how little it takes them to get you there.”   
  
Dancers?   
  
Is he talking ballet or… oh, ye gods. Okay, of course, this happens to him. Why wouldn’t? He needs to use a phone, so of course, he ends up at a strip club and lookin’ like the world’s sleaziest perv while he’s doing it. Suddenly getting the “excuse” comment. He’s so mortified that he pulls out his wallet and yanks out a twenty without further complaint. Anything to end this nightmare.   
  
“Here,” He says, handing it over immediately.   
  
He starts to make like he’s gonna walk past the guy but doesn’t get very far before he stopped.   
  
“You can’t take that thing in there.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“The backpack. You can’t take it in there.”   
  
Okay. His exasperation levels are through the roof right now and if his face gets any redder, he might start sweating blood instead of sweat. Which would be so gross, and is such a mental image to give himself. Yeesh, you can take the boy offa the Hellmouth, but you can’t take the Hellmouth's penchant for oogyness out of the boy…  
  
“I already told you, my car is six miles that way. I can’t - can I just leave it here with you, then?”  
  
“Do I look like a coat rack.”   
  
For the love of -  
  
“Look,” Xander says, yanking out two more twenties. “I’ll be in there for five minutes. I just need to call a tow truck. Here’s another twenty if you watch the bag for five minutes. Please?”   
  
He’s not sure if it’s the desperation in his own voice or if it’s just the fact that Xander is offering to pay him, but the guy snags the twenty and pockets it, jerking his head in the direction of the door and stepping subtly out of the way so that Xander can pass by him. Xander slips off the backpack and leaves it at the guy’s feet, giving him one last look just to make sure that he’s not going to be stopped for having the wrong freaking hair colour, now, before he hurries through the door.   
  
Okay, gotta stay focused. No matter what that guy thinks, he’s not here to gawk at naked ladies. He doesn’t need to gawk at naked ladies. He has self-control and respect for women. Plus, he’s seen boobs before. At least twice on a real, living breathing girl in front of him and one of those times was during actual sex so there’s no reason to stand and drool like a virgin, right? Just gotta get to a phone. No looky, no looky, no looky.   
  
He rounds the corner, repeating that mantra in his head… but comes to a dead halt the second that he steps from the muted and dimly lit hall the main area of the club. It’s everything he expected it was gonna be. All loud music, flashing lights, and bodies writhing on poles… except, those bodies are all very masculine and those g-strings are very bulgey and dear god, those are male strippers.   
  
Xander blinks, hard. He rubs at his eyes and shakes his head like he’s trying to erase an image from an etch-a-sketch, but no matter what he tries, he’s staring down male strippers and hearing the hooting and hollering of enthusiastic drunk women and a few daring men. And suddenly he gets the knowing look in the Bouncer’s eyes. Gets it and hates it and hates himself and hates his stupid car for breaking down.   
  
OH GOD. Of course, he ends up in the MALE strip club.   
  
Swallowing hard and feeling his face turn red, he looks purposefully away from the stages and the gyrating dudes and makes a beeline for the bar, instead, leaning against it and drumming his fingers nervously against the solid surface, waiting without much patience for the guy behind the bar to notice him. It doesn’t take long, he turns and grins at him with that fake happy-to-help customer service smile.   
  
“Hey, man. What can I getcha?”   
  
He’s not old enough to drink, he suddenly remembers. And he wonders why he didn’t get carded, cause he doesn’t think he looks old enough to drink, either. But you only have to be eighteen to enter a strip club, right, and that’s what he just did. This is is his first strip club. That’s a THOUGHT. Look at him, experiencing new parts of American Culture already! Giles would be so proud once he was done retching, he’s sure.   
  
“Uh, nothing,” Xander says, immediately, then hastily correcting himself when he sees how confused the bartender looks. “I mean, nothing to drink. Is there um, a phone I could use? My car broke down about six miles that way and this is the first place I came across.”   
  
Gotta give a good reason for being in here. Xander’s not gay. He’s really, really not gay. He likes the bosoms and he’s had girlfriends and sex with girls, dammit.   
  
“I just really need to call a tow truck,” He finishes, lamely.   
  
Luckily for him, the bartender doesn’t give him that same look that the Bouncer did… but he does wince, instead.   
  
“Ooh, tough break. Yeah, sure, let me just clear it with my boss, okay?”   
  
Okay. He can totally do the waiting thing. He nods and makes sure not to even glance toward the stages while the bartender picks up a walkie-talkie from beneath the bar and brings it up to his mouth.   
  
“Hey, Em? Got someone here with a broken down car who needs to borrow the phone. Is it okay if I let him?”   
  
A distinctly feminine voice crackled back over the machine. “No long distance calls.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll hook him up with the nearest one. Thanks, Em.”   
  
He set the walkie-talkie back down and calls over to the girl at the other end of the bar.   
  
“Hey, Izzy? Stepping out for a sec. You got this,” He said, turning back to Xander and smiling politely. “Alright, come on. Follow me.”   
  
Away from the male nakedness? Please. Xander keeps his gaze down and tries to ignore his little tingles of curiosity that almost make him turn his head, especially when particularly enthusiastic whoops and hollers ring out.   
  
Just gotta get a phone, call a tow truck, and get his trip back on track, so help him god.


	2. Stranded

Xander doesn’t start breathing again until they’re out of the main part of the club, away from the flashing lights and bouncing male parts, and in the back part of the club. It’s quieter, here, though he can still faintly hear the rhythm of the music and the enthusiastic cheering of the crowd. And even then, he doesn’t fully relax, walking with his spine as straight as he’s desperately hoping he looks.   
  
He’s not even sure why he’s so worried about it. No one here knows him, and it’s not like he came to catch a show, he just needs a tow truck. But just thinkin’ that somehow Willow, or Buffy, or CORDELIA would ever somehow learn about this is enough to give him a wiggins, cause the jokes would never stop.   
  
“I’m Daniel, by the way,” The bartender said, casting a glance back toward Xander when he introduced himself. “But you can call me Danny. Almost everyone does.”   
  
“Xander,” He grunts in return, gesturing to himself.   
  
“Cool name. You live around here?”   
  
“No, I’m from Sunnydale. I was just startin’ my, uh, summer road trip when my car broke down.”   
  
It’s so important to Xander that this guy know that he had no plans to end up, here, but he’s still not sure why. It’s just a place. He just needs to make a call. Maybe it’s because that Bouncer made such a big deal about it. Givin’ him a hard time like some kinda overgrown jock. It’s starting to feel like High-school never ends, even if you blow the place up.   
  
“Sunnydale?” Danny asks, his brow furrowing. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of Sunnydale.”   
  
“It’s uh, a really small town. Maybe that’s why.” Xander offers, but he wonders if Danny is geographically impaired or if… maybe no one has. It doesn’t seem impossible that no one has. It's’ a mystical town with its own portal to hell where funerals are so frequent that no one even questions the mysterious deaths. “It’s only three hours from here.”   
  
Aaaaaaand, he’s gonna leave it at that. If he tries to talk any more about Sunnydale, he might accidentally convince the guy to look into it and maybe even convince this guy to visit, and he’s gonna end up as lunch on the wrong end of some vamp’s fangs. Of course, that’s assuming that there’s a right end of a vampire’s fangs that you can end up on. What would that even be? And why is he thinking about this now? Focus, Xander. Phone call.   
  
“Maybe. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten the hell outta Oxnard.” Daniel says, shrugging it off. Xander might’ve overestimated his ability to sell Sunnydale to people, then. This might just be polite “filling the silence” talk. “Okay, here we are. Just one sec.”   
  
He steps up toward a door and Xander hovers back behind him, watching as he knocks once. No one answers, so Danny pushes the door open and beckons for him to follow.   
  
“Looks like Em stepped out. Probably an issue in one of the private showings. Heh, no pun intended. The phone is on the - Ah!”   
  
He suddenly cut himself off with a yelp and Xander jumps, his hand automatically going to his pocket where his weapons are, but nothing attacks them and he peers over Danny’s shoulder, trying to figure out what had startled him. He’s not the only one that’s looking around. There’s another guy, too, suddenly sitting up from behind the desk and looking startled.  
  
“What?” He demands, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Fuck, can’t a guy rest his eyes around here without being screamed at?”   
  
“You scared the shit out of me, Fernando!” Danny says, his hand pressing to his chest. “All I saw was your feet suddenly twitching, fuckhead. What are you doing napping in Emily’s office?”   
  
“I had a headache after my shift. Didn’t feel like driving, yet,” Fernando says, standing up and stretching. His gaze finds Xander, looming behind Danny, and a grin brightens his expression. “Ooh, who’s this? New dancer, or are you doing private shows now?”   
  
Danny rolls his eyes and steps aside so Xander can step into the room.   
  
“Em’s just letting this guy use the phone cause his car broke down a few miles away. Needs a tow truck, we’ll be out of your hair in a minute, Sleeping Beauty.”   
  
“Fuck, that’s a good idea. We should do a Princess night. I bet I’d look awesome in that dress.”   
  
Xander’s gettin’ the sense that there’s no use in him just standing here, listening to them talking, so he starts for the phone. Fernando is faster, though, and pushes it out of his reach.  
  
“Uh…” Xander hums, unintelligently.   
  
“Fern, don’t fuck with the guy.”   
  
“I’m not! Fuck, lay off Danny,” Fernando gripes, turning his gaze back to Xander again. He’s still grinning. “Hey, man. Let me wake up a little and I can help ya out. Save you a buck, huh? I got a truck and I used to make a pretty penny as a mechanic before I fell into this shit.”   
  
“Fern, what are you -”   
  
“Uh, thanks,” Xander says, feeling just as confused as Danny sounds. “But why would you wanna do that? We don’t even know each other.”   
  
“Right, right. Uh. I’m Fernando Rodrìguez, I’m twenty-three, and I’m a male stripper. You got a name, guy?”   
  
“Y-yeah. Alexander Harris, but most people just call me Xander.”   
  
“Cool. Now we know each other. If you don’t want the ride, it’s cool. But I got nothing going on and I don’t mind helping people out of sticky situations. I’ve had to have my car towed by the place in town and those guys are dicks.”   
  
Xander shifts, still uncertain. On one hand, he doesn’t know who this guy is and isn’t sure getting in a truck with him is the best idea. On the other… he doesn’t really have money to burn. He’s already trying to get over the thought that his trip is going to have to end with repairing the car enough to get back to Sunnydale. If Fernando can fix it…  
  
“Okay, sure,” Xander says, shrugging. He doesn’t really have anything to lose, and he is armed. “Yeah, thanks. That’d be awesome.”  
  
“Great,” Fernando says, clapping his hands together. “Need to hit my locker. Grab my coat. Maybe get outta this g-string if it’s chilly out.”   
  
He steps around the desk, then, and Xander can see the lower half of him, suddenly realizing that he’s not wearing pants and is, in fact, wearing a - oh, god. Xander looks purposefully in the other direction. He must be a little too obvious about it, though, because Fernando roars with laughter and Danny sniggers a little too.   
  
“Okay, Dan. Now I’m fucking with him.” Fernando says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll tell Em I’m heading out. Show the guy to my truck, please? I’ll be out there in a minute.”   
  
“Sure thing,” Danny says, still grinning when Xander looks back over at him. He tries to adjust his expression when Xander glared, but he can’t quite take all of the mirth out of his eyes. He must be used to this kind of thing. “C’mon, man. I know where Fern parks. Let’s get you out of here before we scar you too badly.”   
  
Xander doesn’t even have it in him to protest and defend his own ability to take the sight of men mostly undressed. He’d been in locker rooms, before. It was just that none of the guys there ever wore sparkly g-strings. So, he just nods and follows out after him.   
  
Yeah. He’s never telling anyone about this.   
  


* * *

  
The Bouncer stops them on the way out, holding out his arm and looking between Danny and Xander with distrust in his eyes.   
  
“Hey, Dan.” He says, sharply. “This guy causing problems?”   
  
“No, not at all,” Danny promises, shaking his head. “Just taking him over to Fern’s truck. You know how Fernando is about helping people in need.”   
  
The Bouncer relaxes, then chuckles at Xander. “You weren’t kidding about the car thing, then?”   
  
“Why would I have been?”  
  
“I don’t know. We get a lot of “straight” guys in here who only want a drink, or are only looking for their girl, or are only interested in using the phone.” The Bouncer says with a shrug. “Guys who are either trying to hide their interest or just don’t want to pay the cover. Here’s your bag, by the way.”   
  
He shoves the backpack toward Xander, who scowls harder as he slings it back on. He can’t think of a retort clever enough, so he just stalks after Danny, who looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh, again.   
  
“Ignore Greg, dude. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s our only line of defense against entitled assholes, anyway, and he gets the brunt of it when they step out of line.”   
  
“Do I look like an asshole?” Xander asks. It’s not a challenge, just a genuine question. He knows he can act like a jerk, sometimes. Well, most of the time really. But he never thought of himself as looking like someone who might cause trouble.   
  
“I don’t know. You look kinda goofy, I guess, with the bowling shirt. But I don’t know if the assholes we deal with have a type of look. Just the same attitude.”   
  
Xander’s not sure what to make of that. He didn’t think he’d had an attitude. He’d been a little desperate to get inside and use the phone, but he’d paid the cover AND for the guy to watch his bag. Maybe that was what made him an asshole, flinging money around? Huh. He guesses he would have been pissed off if Cordelia handed him a twenty to watch her purse or something.   
  
“Maybe I should be the one who’s sorry, then.” Xander decides, finally. “For making him think I was like that.”   
  
Danny shot him a funny look. “No need, dude. You’re probably the least annoying customer he’s dealt with, today. Okay, here. That’s Fern’s truck. Just chill for a second. He should be right out. I gotta get back inside, though, because it’s a slow night but those people are still animals if they don’t get their drinks fast enough. It was nice to meet you, Xander. Hope the rest of your trip sucks less.”   
  
He hightailed it back away from him, then, giving Greg-the-Bouncer a fist bump before disappearing back inside and Xander hovered awkwardly near the truck. What is he supposed to do? What if this is some kinda prank? Oh, that’d be just great. Two guys see what a loser he is and pull one over on him, making him pay to get back inside and then pretending they never met him or something. He’s actually had that happen to him, before. But not with strangers - his dad locked him out of the house one night and pretended not to know him when he banged on the door.   
  
He actually hadn’t thought about that in a while. It’d happened when he was thirteen and they never talked about it again. Maybe it wasn’t Tony, maybe it was some kind weird spell. Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about this, cause it’s just making his stomach twist. A wiggins is building up inside of him and he folds his arms over his chest, wondering how he can exit this sitch with grace if he really did just get punk’d or whatever. Maybe just keep walking, find a different place, and -  
  
“Hey. You can just toss your bag into the back,” Fernando calls, coming towards him with keys in hand and pants on this time. “It’ll be okay. I toss my shit back there all the time.”   
  
“Oh, uh. Yeah, sure. Thanks.” Xander says, shuffling his feet, and then tossing the bag into the back as direction.   
  
“Sorry, that took me a sec. Boss lady was worried that I was giving a lift to a serial killer or something.”   
  
“HA!” Xander says, laughing a little too sharply. Fernando shot him a weird look and he found himself turning red. “Uh. Sorry. It’s just, me bein’ a serial killer? I’ve got noodle arms.”   
  
He probably shouldn’t be saying that to the stranger who could possibly be planning to kill HIM. But, he can’t help it. It’s just such a funny thought. And not even so much that he might be a killer, but the thought that things like that still worry other people.   
  
“Heh, imagine that as a serial killer name? “Xander Noodle-armed Harris”.” He says, intoning like the host of a True Crime show and Xander barks out another laugh as he unlocks the truck and gesture for Xander to climb in. “It’s got a ring to it.”   
  
Xander buckles in and shakes his head.   
  
“Uh, my car is back that way a few miles.” He says, pointing and trying to get himself back on track. “And uh, thank again. You really didn’t have to -”   
  
“Hey, no need to thank me,” Fernando interrupts, shaking his head as he turned the key in the ignition and the truck roared to life. “I’ve been there, man. I was new in town once, too.”   
  
He pulls out of the parking lot and punches the gas pedal, roaring down the street.   
  
“How do you know I’m new town?”  
  
“You’ve got that lost look in your eyes. So. What’s the story, man? What brings ya near our little town?”   
  
“Uh, summer road trip,” Xander says, with a shrug. “Not a well-planned one, apparently.”   
  
“C’mon, details,” Fernando presses, glancing away from the road to grin at Xander. “I like hearing stories about other people’s lives. People are interesting. Used to hear all kinds of things at the shop I work at. Less from customers where I am, now. Well, less coherency anyway. Some of them will overshare at the first drop of wine.”   
  
“Oh, uh,” Xander says, startled. People don’t usually… ask about him. He’s never been interesting enough, compared to Buffy with her Slaying, Willow with her Witchcraft, and Giles with his infinite Watcher knowledge and British accent which would lend him credibility on its own as far as America is concerned. “It’s sort of a… I’m from a town called Sunnydale? And I’d never really gotten outta town, before. So, when I graduated high-school I decided to get out and get some culture and experience.”   
  
“Graduated high-school?” Fernando asked, looking over at him again. This time with surprise. “How old are you?”   
  
“Nineteen.”   
  
“No kidding? I figured you twenty-one at least. Huh.”   
  
Xander straightened up at that, surprised and a little flattered. Usually, he gets the opposite, people assuming that he’s twelve or something.   
  
“Listen, if I can’t fix the car, I can at least tow it back to the club and let you call someone. But I’m serious about the body shop being a rip-off. They screwed me hard when I first came to town. Do you have any family you can phone? Someone who’d come and get you?”   
  
Oh, yeah. He can imagine that phone call. “Hey, dad. It’s me, the son you never wanted? I need you to drive for three hours and pick me up. Do you mind?” That’d go over well. Tony would probably laugh and hang up before he got past the “hello” and mom wouldn’t be much more help. Neither Buffy or Willow cars and he can’t imagine their parents allowing them to borrow theirs to come to get him.   
  
“Nah, not really,” Xander says, out loud. “My family and I aren’t close. But uh, I can probably pay for whatever is wrong.”  
  
“As long as you got it figured out, man,” Fernando says, amicably. “Oh, hey, is that it?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
Fernando suddenly pulled an illegal U-turn, swinging around and behind Xander’s busted car and hopping out. At least the thing hasn’t blown up, yet… Xander unbuckles his seatbelt and hops out of the truck with Fernando right behind him.   
  
“Yeesh, I can’t believe you planned to trip in that thing,” Fernando said, whistling lowly. “No offense, but I’m amazed you made it three hours in it.”   
  
“Yeah, I didn’t really think ahead…” Xander says, again.   
  
This was a bad idea from the start. But he was so caught up in his depression about being the only one who’s not going to college that he hadn’t taken the time to think about it critically, and now he’s wondering why no one else tried to talk him out of it, either.   
  
“Well, let me take a look.”   
  
Fernando propped open the hood of his car and leaned over it, while Xander stood back and leaned against the car, feelin’ kinda useless. He’s gotta find someone who knows about cars and get them to teach him when he gets back to Sunnydale. Does Giles know about cars? He should have asked.   
  
“Ahhh. I see what’s wrong. This transmission is fucked, man.”   
  
“Uh, what’s that mean?” Xander asks, looking over at him, too surprised to even pretend to know anything about cars.   
  
“It means there’s nothing I can do about this and it’s a wonder you didn’t crash,” Fernando says, closing the hood again. “And it means this car is useless until you can get it fixed. It won’t be cheap. Even an honest car shop would charge almost $4,000 for you to rebuild it and up to $8,000 to just replace it. Which I’m not sure would be worth it on a hunk of junk like this.”   
  
“Son of a bitch!” Xander shouts, suddenly, kicking the side of his car, again. He’d been guessing an upwards of $500 dollars to fix whatever part had stopped working, but $8,000?! He’s never had that much money in his life.   
  
He feels his face turning red and his eyes start to sting. It figures. He’s been on his own for five minutes and everything has already gone horribly wrong and he’s had to find someone to save him because he can’t do anything for himself. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck it all. He slumps against the car and holds his head in his hands.  
  
“Hey, hey…” Fernando says, stepping closer to him and clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Easy.”   
  
Xander shrugs him off and scrubs furiously at his face with his hands.   
  
“Sorry,” He says, finally. “I just wasn’t expecting it to be that bad. I’ve barely driven this thing, but I got it from an Uncle and I never thought to have it checked out by anyone.”   
  
“Well, anyone who did would have told you to stay off the road.” Fernando’s not helping much. “I’m guessing that you don’t have the money to fix it up?”   
  
“Not that much, no. This sucks.” Xander says, repressing the urge to kick something again since his foot is throbbing, now. “I just wanted one thing. Wait until people hear about this. Oh, they’re gonna laugh. There will be much laughter. Ha-ha-ha, Xander barely graduated high-school. Ha-ha-ha, Xander didn’t get into college. Ha-ha-ha, Xander only made it three hours away before life kicked his ass.”   
  
Fernando nudges him, again. “Hey, man. Not to interrupt a perfectly good pity party… but, maybe I can still help?”   
  
“You can fix the transmission?” Xander asks, without much hope.   
  
“Well, no. But, I can probably tow your car back to the club. Get you off the side of the road, at least. And then… well, let’s just get back, okay?”   
  
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” Xander says, still not very enthusiastic about being raked over the coals by this freaking car. What is he supposed to do? He doesn’t even have a credit card! Which, now that he thinks about it, is probably stupid and he puts that on his to-do list. “I’d appreciate it.”   
  
“Sure thing.”   
  
Fernando suddenly cups Xander’s chin and makes him look up at him, gently.  
  
“It’s going to be fine, man. Life hasn’t kicked your ass, yet.”   
  
“There’s always tomorrow?” Xander asks, bleakly.   
  
Fernando just laughs at that.


	3. Hand Outs

“So, you really don’t have anyone that you can call?”   
  
Xander jumps at the question, sitting up straight in his seat and blinking blearily at the windshield as he tries to settle himself back into reality. Most of the ride back to the club had been tense and silent, while Xander sat back and went over all of his options in his head while also having imagined conversations with his friends over just how poorly his trip was going. He could already imagine the well-intended jokes that landed just a little too sharply and the looks of pity that they’d be giving him and it makes his stomach twist unpleasantly.   
  
“No,” He says, shaking his head. “Not anyone that could help, anyway.”   
  
He does feel a twinge of guilt when he says that out loud, already imagining the hurt expression on Willow’s face should she ever find out that he said he couldn’t call her. He knows that she’d try to help, but without a car and with the very likely possibility that she couldn’t use her magic mojo to fix this situation for him, he’s not sure how much help she could be. And Buffy’s got way bigger problems than his vacation disaster. And Giles… well, Xander just can’t picture him driving three hours to pick him up from this strip club without the serious undercurrent of extreme disappointment, disapproval, and dislike. The three “disses”. And for all he knows, they’re all wrapped up in a case of demons eating stray dogs or stray babies or something like that and he’d just be getting in the way of life-saving. Which would make him feel a lot worse.   
  
“No parents?”   
  
Xander can’t possibly begin to explain why his parents would be the worst people to call for something like this, so he just shakes his head.   
  
“Nuh-uh. It’s uh, just me. I mean, I’ve got friends and stuff, but I don’t know if they could really help.”   
  
_See the aforementioned demon that eats stray dogs or stray babies._    
  
“But you don’t have the money to fix it, either.”   
  
No, no he doesn't. And he’s starting to think that Fernando is getting some kinda weird pleasure in re-stating these depressing facts about Xander, cause he keeps doing it. Like he’s waiting for Xander to say the password or something. Xander stares harder out the windshield, tryin’ to come up with a game plan. Alright. He can afford a bus ticket back to Sunnydale, he’s sure of it. But what’s he supposed to do with the car? He can’t just leave it here. How much would it cost to have that thing hauled to a junkyard where it belongs, anyway? Why didn’t he learn stuff like THIS in school?   
  
Fernando just shakes his head, seeming to get lost in thought now to keep grilling Xander about what he’ll be doing from here. It doesn't matter, anyway. They’re already back at the club and Xander’s time for detailing a plan is over. He has to just go with his gut, now, and at least figure out where he’ll be sleeping. Maybe there’s a motel nearby… but spending more money does limit his options, again.   
  
Fernando pulls off to the side instead of back into a parking space, cutting the engine and glancing into his rear-view mirror back at the hunk of junk car that’s attached to his.   
  
“Uh, thanks. For the lift, I mean. And the diagnosis of my car.”   
  
“Don’t mention it. It was my pleasure.”   
  
“Really? You get your thrills from towing cars?” Xander asks, weakly, trying to make a joke outta it.  
  
And Fernando does laugh. Which, is totally a win. “No. But, uh, I’ve been like you. When I ended up here, at this place, I was no better off. I had no money, no family, and my car had just quit on me. But, Emily, the woman who runs this place? She took pity on me, helped me out. Gave me a new life and new chances. I owe everything to her and I try to pay that kindness back to anyone I can.”   
  
Xander’s oddly touched by that. There’s not a lot of selfless people in Sunnydale. Almost no one who’d just go out of their way for ya on mundane issues. Mostly because doing so means that there’s a 50/50 chance you’ll get eaten. But, still. It’s a nice change of pace.   
  
“Well, I think ya paid forward all that ya can. I just gotta figure out how to get back. Boy, am I in for those fun “I told ya so” moments.”   
  
“You don’t want to go home?” Fernando asks, easily catching the bitterness in Xander’s tone.   
  
“No. Not yet.” Xander admits because he’s not sure what the use of lying would be. “I mean, I miss them. My friends. But, I really wanted to… get out for a while. See some new things. Do some stuff. Have stories to tell. Live a little.”   
  
He shrugs and trails off, abruptly. He can’t explain the whole probably-gonna-die-in-the-next-year thing to Fernando, because that involves a lotta backstory with demons and vampires and a golden-haired Slayer. Maybe even a musical number or two and he doesn’t have the pipes for that.   
  
“You know… if you are in no rush, maybe I can be of some help to you.”   
  
“Dude, you already did help. You don’t owe me anything else.”   
  
“No, no. I insist, really. I thought my life was over before someone gave me a second chance. I want to do the same for you. Really.” He adds before Xander can start arguing again. “Let me take you to Emily. She should still be here and she has a thing for helping people who are down on their luck. Probably for the same reason I do. If anyone can help, it’s her. And uh, even if she can’t? What do you have left to lose?”   
  
That’s a fair point. He really is scraping the bottom of the barrel, here. What are they gonna do? Take away his barrel? That’s fine, he doesn't want it anyway. So, he shrugs and nods.   
  
“Yeah, okay. Can’t hurt, might help.”   


* * *

  
Fernando took him inside around the back way, which Xander would be eternally grateful for as he hadn’t really been looking forward to coming at odds with that bouncer, again, who was sure to make some kinda joke about him or his car or his quick return to the club. And the walk to Emily’s office was shorter from this direction than it was from the main part of the club, where the music and enthusiastic whooping noises still echoed from.   
  
Fernando knocks on the door, and this time there’s an answer.   
  
“Come in.”   
  
Fernando pushed the door open and beamed at the woman sitting inside. Emily, Xander’s mind supplied for him because he had to assume the woman sitting at the boss’s desk would be the boss, herself. And he’s not sure what he expected someone who owned this kinda club to look like… but Emily is not it. She looks more like a school secretary or maybe someone in HR, with her auburn hair pulled back into a tight bun and her clothing veering toward the “business casual” line. And she smiles when she sees Fernando… but looks puzzled when her gaze settles on Xander, who shuffles his feet self-consciously.   
  
“Fern? What’s this?”   
  
“This is Xander,” Fernando said, stepping away from him to cross the room and settle down into one of the chairs on the opposite side of Emily’s desk with a causal ease of familiarity. “The one I was taking back to his car?”  
  
“I take it didn’t go well since he’s back in my club?” Emily asks, looking Xander over critically.   
  
“No, it’s uh -”   
  
“Let him talk to me, Fern. C’mere. Have a seat, Xander.”   
  
Xander shuffles forward when bidden, his head hung low and feelin’ awkward as all hell as he takes a seat next to Fernando. He’s still not sure how Emily is supposed to help him. Just knows that Fernando seems to think that she can and now he’s realizing that was not enough to go on.   
  
“Uh. Okay.” He says, coughing. “Long story short? I was kinda on road trip but my car is 8,000 dollars worth of busted junk and I don’t have that kinda money and nowhere to go. And Fernando seems to think that you could help me out with that, only now I’m realizing that I don’t know how and maybe I shouldn’t have come up here. I’m sorry, I’ll just -”   
  
He starts to stand back up, abruptly, suddenly so sure that he wants out of this office and away from the thick air of uncertainty blended with pity that he’d push his uncle’s car all the way back to Sunnydale if it meant getting the hell outta here.   
  
“Easy!” Emily says, lifting up her hands to keep him from bolting and she gestures for him to take a seat, again. “Kinda jumpy, aren’t you? Not really promising for a dancer, so my guess is that you’re not interested in applying to be one of our performers?”   
  
“What?”   
  
Xander gives her a deer-in-headlights look and she laughs.   
  
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. Okay. Look. I don’t do this for just anyone, alright? No matter what Fernando seems to think, this is not a soup kitchen. It’s a place of business. But… it just so happens that we are in dire need of another dishwasher and well, you’re the only applicant I’ve had for it in three weeks.”   
  
“But I didn’t apply -”  
  
“You are right now. Because, if you need money to fix a car and money for a place to stay, then you need a job and this is what I have available. You know how to wash dishes, right?”   
  
“Yeah, of course.”   
  
It’s actually a relief to him, hearing her say that. Sure, getting a job wasn’t his ideal image of how this vacation was going to go - but at least it’s a job where his clothes will stay on and nothing that’ll haunt him. So, he washes dishes at a club. He’ll be in the back, it’s not like he’ll even have time to oggle the strippers. Uh, not that he would. Cause he’s not into guys and why does he have to clarify that even in his own head? Plus, working means contributing to society and that he won’t have to do the walk of shame back through Sunnydale and answer all of those prying questions about why he couldn’t make it past three hours away from Sunnydale. This isn’t a win, but it’s not a total loss either.   
  
“Good, cause the deal might’ve been off if I had to train ya,” Emily says, sighing and rubbing at her eyes. “Okay. Here’s what I’m offering. You’ll be working five days a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays off. Our other bus boy, Joe, works the afternoon crowd, you’ll be taking care of closing. Pay is biweekly and you’ll be on a set rate but tips at the bar are split between all of ya who work behind the scenes. Right now, that means just between you and whoever is manning the bar that night. Danny and Izzy are here almost every night, but sometimes someone from the afternoon shift will stay late to help out when it gets crazy and that means them too. Since you’ll be the last one here, cleaning, you’ll be in charge of locking up. If you leave my doors unlocked, you’re out on your ass.”   
  
Emily talks fast and furiously, leaving no room for argument even if Xander wanted to.   
  
“I own the motel down the road. It’s called Emily’s Inn, so ya can’t miss it. Since you’re working for me, I’ll just take fifty from every paycheck and we’ll call it even for you to stay there until your car is fixed. I stay there too, so don’t think you can get away with any funny business. No drugs, and no pay-per-view lady friends, you got it?”   
  
“Uh…”   
  
Xander turns red and nods, blinking hard as he tries to absorb all of that. He’s pretty sure he’s gettin’ a good deal here, but it’s hard to know for sure. But, it’s not like he has a lot of options anyway.   
  
“Good. You can start tomorrow. You don’t have a car, but Fernando works the night shifts too and since he’s so keen on me lettin’ you in, then I’m sure he won’t mind picking you up and driving you back every night.   
  
“Sure thing, Boss.” Fernando says, and it’s hard for Xander to tell if he’s being sarcastic or not.   
  
"Alright then. Whaddya say, Xander?"  
  
Working at a male strip club… not exactly the ideal road trip experience Xander had been looking for, but it’s better than nothing, right? So, he smiles grimly and nods.  
  
“Sounds good to me. Uh, where do I sign?”


End file.
